He likes to have the morning paper's
|
Crossword solved
|
Words go up words come down
|
Forwards backwards twisted round
|
He grabs a pile of letters from a small
|
suitcase
|
Disappears into an office
|
It's another working day
|
|
And his thoughts are full of
|
strangers
|
Corridors of naked lights
|
And his mind once full of reason
|
Now there's more than meets the
|
eye
|
Oh, a stranger's face he carries with
|
him
|
|
He likes a bit of reading on the subway
|
home
|
A distant radio whistling tunes that
|
nobody knows
|
At home a house awaits him, He
|
unlocks the door
|
Thinking once there was a sea here
|
But there never was a door
|
|
And his thoughts are full of
|
strangers
|
And his eyes to numb to see
|
And nothing that he knows of
|
And nowhere where he's been
|
Was ever quite like this
|
And his thoughts...
|
|
And at heart
|
He's full of strangers
|
Dodging on his train of thought
|
Train of thought
|
|
-----------------
|
Train Of Thought
|
| A-Ha |
